Lucky
by EOlivet
Summary: Samantha has an unexpected visitor.


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong to Hank Steinberg, Jerry Bruckheimer Television Productions and CBS. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Timeline: Post-Fall Out Part 2 -- a few months afterwards.  
  
Rating: TV-PG.  
  
A/N: S and D, you are two of the best writers I know and your writing inspires mine. MSt, you are the best forum there is. There's a reason everybody knows everybody.  
  
To my husband, for falling in love on the third try. And to T, for bringing this all back in brilliant color.  
  
***  
  
Lucky  
  
***  
  
The saw whirred, coming alive as it cut into her leg -- splattering bits of her life into the air as it moved. Through the deepening slit, she saw light, but felt darkness. Dark eyes, dark room, dark night -- warm, warm, yet cold -- warm arms, cold voice -- cold, cold, warm blood, soft -- soft like flesh, like a soft voice speaking loudly. Her life parting, falling away -- a piece of herself, an attachment, part of her dark soul splitting open into the light.  
  
She hadn't had a flashback since the incident and only after the doctor had removed the remains of her cast did he tell her there might be some "phantom pain." Still, it was all the feeling she had left.  
  
Every step was like learning to walk, and she faltered down the street like an old woman who blinked and wondered why everybody had become different. Those who saw her must've assumed the affliction was in her head and secretly she wished and feared that was true.  
  
Cabs whipped past her as she struggled to the subway. The reason she was barely moving one leg would be the reason nobody would've contested her, and perhaps would've even assisted her attempt to get a cab. Guess somebody forgot to tell Barry Mashburn that a horrific tragedy was supposed to make everybody nicer.  
  
The interminable steps were preferable to the sad looks and fake courtesy that hadn't existed two years ago, when smoke and fire were the accouterments of some kind of log cabin and the only bodies she contemplated were the unlucky few scattered throughout the course of her job, and the smoking, fiery sensation of her boss' body pressed to hers.  
  
It was a few-foot mile through the underground terminal, and she'd seen so many trains appear only to disappear that by the time she boarded one, she was half-convinced it was a mirage that would disintegrate, stranding her on the platform once more.  
  
Her ride was shorter than it had ever been when she was in a hurry, and she was in such a rush to disembark that she almost toppled forward into the same people who would've gladly yielded their cabs to her. All this newfound charity and kindness didn't adapt well to the lifestyle of the underground commuter. It was at least refreshing to know that hadn't changed.  
  
Several hour-long minutes later, she was navigating up her stairs -- clutching the bannister like she'd been blindfolded and dropped into a maze whose twenty steps multiplied into hundreds through her blurry eyes.  
  
As she reached the top, her vision refocused, and focused on a small form propped up against her door. From down the hall, it appeared to be an oddly shaped package. One foot crept in front of the other, and the details sharpened.  
  
The package had a curly top, a shiny dark and denim wrapping, tied with entwined finger ribbons. It set upon two rubber-soled leather feet and it was attached to a backpack.  
  
Samantha gasped and clutched at the wall, as if air would prevent her from falling over. Guiltily, her tongue searched for a name that should've been more familiar. "Siobhan?"  
  
The little girl package that had deposited herself at the young woman's door scrambled to her feet. Her eyes spoke of shock. "What happened to you?" the girl wondered.  
  
Keys fumbled awkwardly in her hand, she managed to unlock the door, and without so much as an invitation, Siobhan Arintero picked up her backpack and let herself in.  
  
The door closed behind them and Samantha regarded her visitor, as the girl shuffled to the couch and sunk down, her backpack thudding to the ground beside her.  
  
Clumsily, Samantha found her way to a chair. "Do your parents know you're here?"  
  
A disinterested shrug, punctuated by a slight roll of the eyes.  
  
"Siobhan, we have to call them -- they must be so worried..." Samantha attempted to stand once more, finding her footing after two or three tries.  
  
The girl still hadn't moved from her spot on the couch.  
  
"Siobhan..."  
  
"Miss Spade, why'd you save me?" Her voice dripped with cold, sullen anger.  
  
Instinctively, Samantha replied, "We couldn't let that man hurt you, sweetheart." She added gently, "We couldn't let what happened to Annie--"  
  
"I am so _sick_ of hearing about Annie!" Siobhan interrupted, her eyes blazing. "Annie, Annie, Annie -- that's all anyone ever talks about. The town commissioned Annie Miller Memorial Park. My school has the Annie Miller Scholarship Award -- for kids interested in video-making. Our congressman is talking about some kind of Annie Miller law that's even more strict than the current one. Nobody even cared about Annie until she died and now-- I hate her!"  
  
Samantha listened before gamely attempting to change the subject. "Siobhan...why don't you let me give your parents a call? They just need to know that you're all right..."  
  
The girl gave Samantha a hard look. "That I'm not dead like Annie? If I was dead, my dad wouldn't have lost his business and my mom wouldn't have had to go back and work nights at some hospital in the city just to support us. I can't visit Uncle Derrick 'cause he moved away and Mrs. Miller can't look at me without crying. I bet they all wish I was dead. It would certainly make their lives easier."  
  
Her heart felt the sting of Siobhan's words. Yet, she leaned forward and softly clasped the girl's arm. "Your parents love you and they'd miss you very much if anything ever happened to you." She awkwardly lowered herself onto the couch a modest distance from her guest. "You're more precious to them than ever now that they almost lost you."  
  
Shaking her head, Siobhan snorted derisively. Her eyes narrowed as she fixed Samantha with an irritated look. "No, I'm not," she insisted. "I'm just 'lucky.' Everybody tells me I'm soooo lucky. Kids in school, strangers on the street, even my mom and dad. I pass people every day and they whisper 'She's soooo lucky.'" She drew out the words, mockingly. "You're soooo lucky, Siobhan, so lucky you didn't end up like poor Annie. Poor _dead_ Annie."  
  
The girl was practically shouting now, and she jerked her arm away from Samantha's comforting hand. Her fists slammed against the couch cushions. "I hate them! I hate them so much! I hate the town and the school and my parents and Annie and--" Siobhan suddenly and finally exploded into a flurry of sobs, and Samantha held the girl and rocked her in her arms.  
  
"I know," she soothed, understanding too well. "I know."  
  
The little girl clung to Samantha, as she'd done that night, enclosing the hurt and grief so at least it was contained between them. Her body shook, but she held on, as she'd probably been doing for the past half year.  
  
Slowly, Siobhan lifted her head, revealing the red-rimmed remnants of tears plastered in shiny tracks against her cheeks. "Why didn't you let him kill me?"  
  
Samantha drew in a breath.  
  
"Then my dad wouldn't have lost his business, my mom wouldn't have gone back to work. They'd name parks and scholarships and laws after me, and everyone would miss me." The little girl's lip quivered with fresh sobs. "And I'd be with Annie. We'd be together...like always."  
  
Samantha swallowed her own tears, drawing back from the girl. "It's hard to feel lucky...when everything you knew is gone."  
  
Her hand smoothed Siobhan's tangled curls. "You know nobody expects you to be happy or grateful all the time. And I'm sure sometimes it feels like Annie is the lucky one. Because she doesn't have to go through life...without her best friend."  
  
Nodding, the girl's face dissolved into more tears, and she leaned her head against Samantha's chest.  
  
"But...you have to know when people say _you're_ lucky...what they mean is _they're_ lucky...that they still have you. That they didn't lose you too. They don't have to name a park or a video-making award after you because you can still do these things. You're alive...even if it doesn't always feel that way."  
  
The little girl's arms encircled Samantha's neck, and they held each other -- the one who wept and the one who desperately wanted to weep.  
  
Samantha hastily wiped the tears from her own eyes when Siobhan pulled back a second time. She offered the girl a smile. "What do you say I call your parents now?"  
  
"OK." The first hint of a smile graced that sad face.  
  
Rising slowly, Samantha made her way to the phone. She paused with her hand over the receiver. "How did you find me?"  
  
The smile broadened a little. "I've learned to use the computer for other things besides videos," she answered.  
  
Returning the grin, Samantha was about to pick up the phone when Siobhan pointed in her direction. "You're hurt -- I knew it. You hurt your leg," she observed.  
  
"Yes, I did," Samantha replied, as if remembering her condition for the first time.  
  
The girl looked concerned. "What happened?"  
  
She was considering how much of the experience she should actually reveal before she realized this girl had experienced things far worse than what had happened in that bookstore. "A man shot me," she stated. "It, it was an accident. He was just upset because he had lost...his best friend, too."  
  
Siobhan was silent for a minute, her eyes quietly filling with wonder. "You got shot -- but you're still alive?"  
  
"Yeah." Samantha picked up the phone, smiling sadly to herself. "I was lucky."  
  
The End. 


End file.
